


Or My Name Isn't Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!

by farrah_yondale



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyran Culture, Bearding, Funny, M rating is for sexual references, M/M, Pining, comphet, dorothea and lorenz’s ending is so gay like oh look we invented queer eye! fake hets smh, lavender marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farrah_yondale/pseuds/farrah_yondale
Summary: Lorenz loves Dorothea. Lorenz Loves Dorothea. If he says it enough times, it’ll be true, right?
Relationships: Dorothea & Lorenz, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, background Dorothea/Leonie
Comments: 20
Kudos: 161





	1. In Which Dorothea Bullies Gay Men

**Author's Note:**

> Lorenz and Dorothea's paired ending had my head spinning. A fashion show??? A FASHION SHOW???? How GAYER can an ending between a man and woman get? God.

Lorenz Hellmann Gloucester was perfectly in love, thank you very much.

No amount of snide remarks from jealous courtesans and repressed nobles would ruin his mood tonight. Not tonight, of all nights. He was marrying Dorothea Arnault, whose radiance and grace matched no one and whose charms could outwit no man. She was spellbinding, breathtaking, and a whole host of equally flattering synonyms he’d bestow upon her if her utter beauty didn’t succeed so aptly in short-circuiting the dictionary in his brain. _Of course_ , he was attracted to Dorothea. _Of course_ , he loved her.

Of course, he was happy enough with her.

“Happy enough,” Hilda mocked at his subconscious reveal. “Happy enough? You deserve to be more than ‘happy enough’ Lorenz.”

But he would not have it. He would not have doubts cross his mind, not now, not when their wedding was perfect, and Dorothea looked perfect and his father actually looked happy for once. Hadn’t he made the decision to marry her? Hadn’t he been overjoyed when she’d said yes? Lorenz had heard of grooms getting cold feet on their wedding days before. This was all just part of it, yes. They would ebb away in time. Melt with his anxieties and bloom into love, the love he’d dreamed about while writing poetry.

He shook himself. Dorothea did not deserve his inhibitions. She’d been hurt many times before, by men who’d taken advantage of and betrayed her heart. For her sake, he would swallow his doubts down.

Along with another glass of wine.

“Easy, there,” came Dorothea’s voice. She was smiling. She’d been smiling all night and had only paused in her smiling to complain to Lorenz that her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Most of them had been faked, to put on airs for the nobility but this one was genuine. She leaned her hand behind his back, as if to steady him. “Don’t pass out at your wedding reception.”

“Excuse me,” Lorenz exclaimed, feigning offense. “I can hold my liquor.”

“Right.” Dorothea’s wit was a welcome reprieve from all the facades of the nobility this evening. “That’s what you said to me last time before you fainted in my arms after—what was it? Two glasses of wine?”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Lorenz admitted sheepishly. Extenuating circumstances both of them promised to never repeat. For all of Dorothea’s brashness, she at least kept her word.

“Well, I hope no extenuating circumstances crop up tonight.” If they hadn’t been in public, Lorenz might have swatted her playfully.

Later, he’d ask if she’d jinxed him on purpose.

Now, however, he was blissfully ignorant of what the rest of the evening would hold and replied instead, “Your eye for fashion has definitely made an impression on the nobility. Had they any question of your grace and poise before, I assume they’ve all vanished.”

“Thanks to my supportive husband,” Dorothea giggled.

Husband. Lorenz hadn’t a moment to dwell on the word before a commotion invaded the front of the hall. Noble folk, dressed in Fodlan’s finest garments crowded around the entrance doorway, whispering in either excitement or apprehension.

“What’s going on?” Lorenz asked, a sinking feeling eroding his stomach. The only clamor he’d wished for tonight was applause for his wife’s aesthetic taste. When Dorothea gave him a questioning look, his anxiety only heightened. She must have seen his face go white and squeezed his arm to stay put, while she inspected the commotion.

When she returned, she was smiling again. “The king of Almyra has decided to grace us with his presence.”

Lorenz could not fathom what was so funny about _that_. “The king of—we didn’t invite him!”

“You invited Claude von Riegan, didn’t you?”

Lorenz’s heart dropped to his gut at the sound of a familiar voice. He shifted back to face the entrance hall, his hand still on Dorothea’s arm. _Claude_. He’d disappeared after the war to Goddess knew where, and now here he was, dressed in a gold embroidered coat, long and split at the waist in the center with black trousers bunched up at the ankle. He wore a decorated sword at his hip and a long scarf that draped his shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t exactly have Fodlan-appropriate wedding clothes, so I hope the Almyran fashion doesn’t sully your reputation.”

“Of course not, Claude,” Dorothea complimented excitedly. “You look lovely!”

He did look lovely, to Lorenz’s chagrin. Lorenz hadn’t even the inklings of a cold, but a sudden lump choked his throat and he felt very sick. He wanted to cry. Or scream. Count on Claude to ruin his perfect night.

“What’s the matter, Lorenz?” Claude teased. “Am I so handsome you’ve no words left?”

“That’s—” Lorenz cleared his throat. “Must you always be so uncouth?” he snapped. “Is this your night or mine?”

Lorenz felt Dorothea tense next to him, and he immediately felt the need to apologize to her.

“Oh, come on, Lorenz, I thought we were friends now.”

Lorenz couldn’t abide by this any longer. He wanted to love Dorothea tonight. He wanted to enjoy _her_ and everything surrounding _them_ and he didn’t need Claude bursting in through the front door, ruining everything. “Excuse me,” he finally managed, and slithered out of Dorothea’s arm, making a beeline for the balcony.

The cool night air was a relief to the heaviness in his chest. Lorenz reveled in attention and ceremonies, but long, pointless chatter among nobility wore him away.

Lorenz looked out at the trees lining the estate. Their dark outlines and the slow chitter of insects calmed him, despite how much turmoil threatened his sanity currently.

Lorenz had invited Claude on the off chance he’d respond, but hadn’t entirely expected him to show up. In fact, some part of him hoped he wouldn’t, as worried as he’d been for his friend’s health and safety.

“Hey.”

Lorenz recognized the voice and closed his eyes in irritation. He didn’t want to snap again. It had never been his intention to hurt or argue with Claude, as much as seeing him pained Lorenz.

“Claude, please,” came Lorenz’s own voice, annoyed, despite his intentions.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

Claude’s voice was embarrassed and humble, and Lorenz wasn’t so cruel as to deny his friend the chance to apologize. He turned from the railing and allowed Claude to lean against the edge of the balcony next to him.

“I’m sorry. I really am, Lorenz. I didn’t mean to make it seem like tonight was about me. I thought you’d enjoy my grand entrance, but I was mistaken. I’m sorry. I thought you’d be overjoyed.”

“I am overjoyed,” Lorenz admitted. “But I wish you’d told me beforehand instead of barging in.”

Lorenz immediately regretted his own honesty. Claude’s sheepishness turned right into mischief again. He gave Lorenz a crooked smile and a knowing stare. “Ah,” he said. “So you’re just upset I didn’t include you in my scheme, is that it?”

Lorenz laughed softly despite himself. “Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

Claude, to his merit, changed the topic when he sensed Lorenz’s discomfort. He slid back and seated himself on the railing. Lorenz might have worried for Claude falling, but any nagging would have just produced another smart remark. “Really jealous of you and Dorothea, though.”

“Hm, you should be.”

“You must trust her completely to have her flirting openly with women at your own wedding reception.”

“Of course. She’s just flirting. That’s always been her natural way of things.”

Claude was staring, as if he were looking for more meaning in Lorenz’s words. He’d met that gaze before, but something about it was unnerving this time. Lorenz was suddenly aware of his hand on Claude’s thigh, and Claude’s hand on his hand, and they were touching in more places than Lorenz had initially accounted for. Claude leaned forward, pressing his lips to Lorenz’s, and Lorenz only had half a moment to register what was happening before he shoved himself out of Claude’s grasp, appalled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lorenz was furious and his voice shrill. “How dare you! You—you…!”

Claude had shifted to his feet and was already apologizing profusely over Lorenz’s protests.

“Lorenz, Lorenz, I’m sorry!”

“I’ve begun to have a deep respect for you, Claude and I would never imagine you the sort of man to do—to do something like this!”

“Lorenz, I’m sorry, I misunderstood!”

Lorenz had thus far been ignoring any of the words that spilled out of Claude’s hurried mouth, but stopped at that. “Misunderstood? Misunderstood _what_? You think _I_ would cheat on my wife, on her wedding night of all nights? Is that the sort of man you think I am, Claude?”

“No—no, Lorenz, please—”

“How dare you! You are out of line—”

“Lorenz, please—”

“What kind of—”

“There are other types of marriages in Almyra!”

Lorenz was breathless, _furious_. But he’d eventually succumbed to Claude’s genuine humility, and that line. What did _that_ mean? Lorenz quieted and gave Claude the chance to explain.

“I…” Claude started. “There are marriages in Almyra that are purely…political. Or a façade, maybe? To protect both parties. Neither of them are interested in each other and are open to other sources of affection.”

So? How was that so different from what Fodlan had? People married for political reasons all the time. “What makes you think Dorothea and I are like that? Neither of us benefit from marrying the other except that we love each other.” Despite his insistence, the words felt hollow.

“When you said…I’m sorry. I misunderstood your relationship.”

Lorenz had calmed down enough now. Perhaps his anger had been unwarranted. He knew Claude and knew he was not the sort of man to play with someone’s affections, as much as he loved to tease.

“I’m sorry,” Claude apologized again, his voice completely deflated. Lorenz had never seen the man cry, but he was quite sure now that those were tears in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have come. I’ll just go.”

Before Lorenz could say anything—what could he say?—Claude had torn away from him and was down the steps that lead to the garden and out of sight. Lorenz wanted to run after him, grab his arm, say something, but he was frozen in place by fear and let him go.

Claude leaned his head back against the wall.

He hated wallowing. He hated feeling sorry for himself. He’d spent the earlier parts of his childhood doing just that, and it’d been a long while since he’d felt this way. Now he was older, wiser. He had more power to change the world as he saw fit, so he no longer needed to wallow.

But no power could make Lorenz love him back.

He was an idealistic fool, his mother would chide. She’d always chided his earnest heart, if only to protect him from a world that was cruel to its idealists. He’d expected Lorenz to wait for him, the love story of fantasies, and he’d gotten hurt. He should have seen it coming.

“Hey, sweetie,” came Hilda’s voice. She said nothing after that, just outstretched a handkerchief in sympathy.

“What’s that for?” Claude tried to cover up his sniff.

“For your tears.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Uh-huh. You just have water pouring out of your face. Whatever you call it. Take it.”

Claude took the handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes. It was cool against the heat of his cheeks. He sniffed one last time before folding the handkerchief into his coat pocket.

“I wouldn’t want to return a used handkerchief to a lady before washing it.” His voice was congested, but he still managed a smile and a wink.

Hilda ignored it and brushed his cheek with a finger. “You’ll be all right. Do you want me to stay or go?”

Claude paused, trying to swallow down the congestion in his voice. “Go, please. I need to be alone.”

Hilda smiled pitifully and gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving. He was alone again with his thoughts, with his fears, with his heartbreak.

Claude slid down against the wall and sobbed.

Why did Lorenz feel so suddenly awful?

He returned to the banquet, by his wife’s side, but all the laughter and extravagance felt suddenly hollow. At least Dorothea was beside him to smooth things over, warm and real, a genuine light in his life, and he couldn’t help but smile and stare at her in admiration.

“Lorenz, what are you doing?” she teased. “You’re making me blush.”

“A blush would only compliment your already lovely features.”

She must have sensed his anxiety despite his praise. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, just a little disconcerted. If you could take over for me for the rest of the evening.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Dorothea soothed with an affection squeeze of his arm.

Lorenz may have had his reservations about the Goddess, but right then and there, he knew there was some force outside of his control—Goddess or not—who had it out for him this evening. A younger version of himself might have somehow laid the blame on Claude.

“Lady Dorothea,” Count Gloucester greeted with a regal air. He took Dorothea’s hand and kissed the back of it in respect. As benign as the gesture was, Lorenz felt his cheeks heat in anger. He did not trust his father with Dorothea’s commoner status, given his proclivities towards judgement. He might have to speak despite his wishes.

But it was not Dorothea Count Gloucester was after this evening. “That Almyran king certainly made a show this evening, didn’t he? I swear the man has no manners, barging into a wedding of his own accord.”

“He was invited, actually,” Lorenz snapped.

“Was he? Still, quite unnecessary for him to make a show like that. I suppose they don’t teach tact in Almyra.”

Given the emotional upheaval from earlier and his exhaustion from it, Lorenz had never wanted to punch his father more in his life. He might have, actually, if Dorothea hadn’t been there to smooth things over.

“You misunderstand, Count Gloucester,” Dorothea said sweetly, giving Lorenz’s arm a warning squeeze. “His entrance was part of our fashion show. We’ve both been planning an Almyran line, but we wanted to test the waters. And who better to show off than the king of Almyra himself?”

Count Gloucester laughed at that. Lorenz relaxed beside Dorothea, hoping the bitterness in his face wasn’t nearly as apparent to his father as it was to her.

“Of course,” Dorothea went on. “If you’d like to be notified of such things, please let us know now. We wanted it to be a surprise, but not at the expense of the illustrious Count Gloucester.”

Dorothea got another chuckle out of him. “Lady Dorothea, you are quite the charmer. There’s no need for that. Do as you will.” He gave a wink. “I trust you to reign my son in.” No sooner had Count Gloucester took his leave, than Lorenz burst into complaint.

“The nerve of him! On my wedding day of all days!”

“With a bastard of a father like that, I can’t believe you managed to turn out as good as you did. I can’t wait for the day we can finally brew his corpse into Daphnel Stew and serve it to all of his rich friends.”

“Dorothea!” Lorenz’s jaw dropped. Dorothea laughed.

“Well, at least I got you to relax a little.” His shoulders dropped and he let out a content sigh.

Dorothea laid her head over his shoulder and sighed, “I can’t wait to go to sleep after all this.”

Claude visited Lorenz in his dreams that night.

Surrounded by the haze that usually accompanied dreams, it was Claude who laid with him in bed instead of Dorothea, a soft, unnatural sun lighting him from the back. At first, Lorenz, who was still lulled by the fog of dreaming, didn’t protest the idea. He was used to closeness with Claude when they’d shared study sessions and bloody battles late at night.

His hand moved by some unconscious command of his mind. He reached out, rubbed gentle caresses over Claude’s shoulder to rouse him, which he did with perfectly content slowness.

Claude murmured his name, half in question, and then turned. Dream Lorenz wasn’t bothered by their contact, by the sleepy curve of his lashes or the fact that their legs were tangled under the sheets. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that their hands were interlocked, that Dorothea’s ring was on Claude’s finger or by the satisfied smile when he glanced up at Lorenz’s face. He wasn’t even bothered when Claude pulled him in close and kissed his lips sweet. He liked the feel of it, the way all of his insides glowed at the affection. It was only when he reached consciousness, when he was able to control his thoughts, that he was suddenly horrified.

He jerked awake, his chest heaving rapidly from the dream. Eyes wide, he turned over in his bed to see who lay in it. It was Dorothea.

To Lorenz’s second horror that morning, Dorothea was strewn over the bed, one of her breasts sticking out of her nightgown.

“Dorothea!” he cried out, curling away from her and burying his face in his hands. “Please!”

Dorothea, half-awake, began to stir and quickly realized the source of his protests.

“Ha, ha, oops,” she said. “Let me just tuck that away.” When Lorenz turned back to face her, she was still adjusting her gown over her chest.

“Must you be so crude?” he asked, appalled.

“What?” Dorothea giggled. “I can’t control what they do while I’m asleep.”

Lorenz might have protested more, had he not a more pressing matter on his hands. Namely, that the organ in his trousers had developed a mind of its own and was pressing uncomfortably against the cotton of his nightwear. Lorenz tore off the sheets and turned away from Dorothea before she could see and embarrass him, making his way to the washroom to relieve himself.

Inside, he leaned over the hard surface of the water basin. It was deathly cold for someone who’d just ripped himself away from the warmth of bed. But it was a welcome sensation to help quiet the distressful physiology in his trousers.

What was the meaning of his dreams of Claude? Lorenz blushed at the thought. He’d never seen Claude naked before, though, he realized with faint horror that he enjoyed dwelling on the thought.

Which didn’t help his current problem.

“Not helping,” Lorenz chided himself through gritted teeth, leaning his head against the basin.

“Lorenz, darling, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Lorenz moaned pitifully into the sink.

He’d been so relieved that Dorothea hadn’t pushed him last night. Distressed that he’d been relieved. Distressed that he’d dreamt of Claude on his wedding night with another woman, of all nights. Distressed—he finally admitted it to himself—that he didn’t love Dorothea. Oh, he adored her. He would be thrilled to be her husband and look after her and hear her laughter for the rest of his life. But he did not love her. He could not love her, and that was most of all, what Dorothea deserved: a man who loved her.

But he had to try.

For someone who claimed a title as grandiose as “Master Tactician” Claude was exceptionally talented in ruining things on a whim.

Dorothea had almost congratulated herself on a job well done. _Almost_. Until Claude von Riegan had burst through the door and unraveled all her plans. Claude had cracked Lorenz open like a child’s violently curious hands might split a chrysalis in half, prodding out a butterfly before it was quite ready to be called one. Dorothea had planned on easing Lorenz into the subject of his sexuality. Through small compliments of men’s features until his eyes began to linger a bit too long, to limit their affections to kisses on the cheek and otherwise chaste physical contact until he realized it wasn’t normal.

To ease him—probably over the period of months to years—into the fact that he was an idiot who’d married a woman uninterested in men.

She imagined the revelation would only be a source of relief to him at that point. Anyone looking in might have called her a master manipulator for marrying into wealth without the dreaded consequences of marrying a man. But truly, her reasons for doing so weren’t quite so superficial. She genuinely loved Lorenz, and he deserved the perfect man. But marrying her was preferable to marrying a woman who was actually attracted to him. A woman who would be heartbroken that his affections had been manufactured, a woman he’d probably never reveal his inclinations to because he really was the gentleman he paraded himself as, and he would refuse to ruin a woman’s life when he’d agreed to nurturing it till his death.

She had to protect him, was the gist of it.

“Lorenz, darling, would you mind looking over these lyrics with me?”

Dorothea mustered the sweetest voice she could manage. She’d been an actor for most of her life, but it was hard to be fake around someone so genuine.

He agreed, and they chose to sit on a bench in one of the estate’s many rose orchards. Dorothea sat close to him, taking his hand in hers. Lorenz covered his flinch with a weak, uncomfortable smile.

“Are you all right?” She knew what plagued him, but he still wasn’t ready to hear the truth.

“Fine,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Just tired from last night.”

Ah, Claude had really thrown a wrench into her plans. She wanted him at ease. She wanted him comfortable with her affections like he’d always been, but now, his brow creased whenever she touched him and a kind of guilt flared in her. Dorothea could spare him from this right now.

But how?

This wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this. With men gawking at her at the opera company, it was only natural she’d find men who she could be safe with. Typically, they were men uninterested in her romantically. The first man she’d “dated” like this, she’d been open about his preferences. What he was. Instead of its intended effect of realization, the man had only gone in the opposite direction—into the arms of some other woman, whom he was now no doubt miserable with. She couldn’t do that to Lorenz.

But maybe she could do something else?

“Last night,” Dorothea started and felt Lorenz tense next to her.

“If my behavior was less than civil, I apologize,” Lorenz interrupted.

Dorothea shook her head, smiling brightly. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to say, I’m upset you never introduced me to Leonie Pinelli.”

“Leonie?” Dorothea was glad to see his face brighten at the mention of his friend. “Yes, she is an exceptional individual. Blunt and loyal to a fault. Incredibly dedicated. I think you two would get along.”

“That’s just what I was about to say. We got along immensely. I enjoy her company. And I think…” Dorothea faked an embarrassed hand over her face. “I think she may be interested in me.”

“Oh?” Lorenz teased. “And are you interested in her?”

Dorothea was careful with her answer. “It’s hard to ignore the way she looks at me.”

Lorenz looked wounded. “Dorothea, I’m sorry.” Before she could protest, Lorenz was on his knees, hands in her lap, as if she were an altar in a church he was about to beseech forgiveness from. “I’ve neglected you. I must be a terribly awful husband to have denied you your right last night. Of course, you’re seeking the affections of someone who could fulfill them more completely!”

“Lorenz, please! That’s not what I meant—”

Goddess, damn it, this man had to see fault only in himself, didn’t he? Why did he have the opposite problem of most men?

“Dorothea,” he proclaimed. “I promise you we will have sex tonight!”

His voice rang loud and clear as a bell throughout the garden. It would have been embarrassing enough for the both of them, and then Dorothea spied a few of Lorenz’s friends at the entranceway of the orchard, standing as still as startled deer.

“Oh, Goddess help me,” Lorenz cried, spotting them, too.

Marianne’s hand was on her mouth, her face bright red. Lysithea’s eyes were closed and her lips pursed like she was in the worst silent pain of her life. Leonie coughed.

And despite all that, Dorothea’s only thought was, _thank the Goddess Claude isn’t here_.

Leonie was the only one brave enough to speak. “Your father is looking for you, Lorenz.”

Lorenz jumped at the chance to escape the situation. Dorothea knew, because she dearly wished she could, too. He ripped his hands out of Dorothea’s and bolted across the lawn.

“Tell me why three of you needed to deliver that message,” Dorothea said.

“We didn’t know we were interrupting,” Lysithea answered.

“Trust me, I’m glad you interrupted.”

“That bad, huh?”

Leonie was the one who settled comfortably on the bench next to her. Lysithea and Marianne opted to leave the situation outright. There was no way to confront what had just happened.

“Leonie, my valiant knight,” Dorothea giggled, leaning her head into Leonie’s shoulder like a cat seeking affection “The only one brave enough to face the danger of an awkward situation.”

Leonie wrapped her arm around Dorothea’s shoulder and petted her hair.

“You don’t mind?” she asked.

“No,” Dorothea giggled again.

“Not afraid of being accused of being unfaithful?”

“I was hoping so, actually,” Dorothea said with a sigh. “But Lorenz is too good of a man to see it as cheating. If he saw us kissing, he’d only think it’s his fault somehow.”

“Wow,” Leonie said, returning her hands to her lap. “I knew the guy was good, deep down but I didn’t know he was that good. Maybe you should stick with him.”

“And let a catch like you go?” Dorothea teased, bumping her elbow into Leonie’s side. Leonie laughed a hearty, deep laugh that made Dorothea’s heart shudder in her chest. She loved women like Leonie. Women who took up all the space in the room and weren’t afraid to butt heads with men, women who loved themselves and radiated nothing but fullness and happiness. Leonie wasn’t a rich noble like the men in her fantasies, but she was everything else she needed.

Dorothea remembered her plight and sighed.

“Hey,” Leonie soothed, rubbing Dorothea’s hand. “You’ll figure something out.”

“I know. I just, really care about him, you know? I wish I could just fix this with magic.”

“You wanted to protect him, and I think you’re doing a pretty good job of it so far.”

Leonie would know all about protecting. Despite being a commoner and a mercenary, she exuded the qualities of chivalry better than half the knights parading themselves around in armor around the estate.

“I do think we should keep our distance, though,” Leonie admitted. “I don’t want us to confuse Lorenz more. Or, I don’t know, make him feel worse.”

“You’re right. It might already be too late for that, though,” she added mischievously.

Leonie leaned back in surprise. “You told him about us?”

“What else was I supposed to do? I thought it would help him figure out what I am. Instead, he thinks I’m so desperate for any sort of attention because of his failings. Hence, his…” Dorothea flushed at the thought.

“His embarrassing proclamation?” Dorothea assented in silence and Leonie burst into another loud laugh.

Claude was the last person he’d wanted to see.

He’d been so insistent on loving Dorothea properly, and it seemed the Goddess was bent on challenging him. Well, no matter. These were petty feelings. Low, base desires for someone he knew he had no deeper relationship with. Not like his love for Dorothea which was pure and unshakeable. Never mind that he’d been shaken simply by a detailed dream…

No, not the dream. Lorenz shook his head.

“Claude,” Lorenz greeted stiffly. He stopped for some unknown reason. _Keep walking_ , his mind ordered himself, but he would not move.

“Lorenz,” Claude replied just as stiffly, not his usual laidback self. Although, Lorenz supposed he couldn’t blame him. The last time they’d spoken, he’d tried to kiss him out of some misguided notion that Lorenz was in love with him. In love! Hah!

As if.

It was selfish of him to want the easygoing Claude now to calm his anxieties. Regardless of Claude’s ludicrous assumptions, Lorenz had still broken a friend’s heart. That much was apparent to him. He would not push him.

“Is there anything…” Lorenz started, circumventing the difficult subject of last night. “I can do? To help in any way?”

His reward: a genuine smile from Claude. Lorenz tried to ignore the way his heart hammered in his chest from the sight. He’d seen the man smile countless times. What was so different this time? How foolish.

“No,” Claude replied. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, regardless, I am your friend. And I care for you. Please tell me if you need anything.”

_Please tell me if you need anything._

_I need you. I need you to love me._

He almost said it aloud. He almost dropped to his knees and started begging. He wanted to cry into Lorenz’s hands and kiss them and prove that he was worthy of his love.

Claude inhaled a shaky breath.

“Thank you, Lorenz. But I’ll be fine.”

He was not fine.

“Claude, get up!” Hilda chided, slapping his butt. “Don’t you have a country to run?”

“No,” he moaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Leave me to die.”

It was late in the morning, and Claude had no reason to be sleeping in today. It wasn’t his habit to stay in bed for long. Usually, he’d rise with the sun to meditate and breathe in the fresh morning dew, but today…

 _Today_ , he thought with a sigh under his blanket. As if today held some dreaded consequences of an irresponsible night. Though, he supposed it could be seen that way.

By the time Claude lifted the covers, Hilda and her insistent voice were gone. He squinted through the haze of grogginess out his bedroom window. It was nearly noon. He’d missed his morning prayers and the chance at breakfast.

What was the point? He turned back over in his bed and drew his blanket over his face. He was embarrassed by his forwardness with Lorenz. Their conversation in the hallway had tugged at every guilt-ridden bone in his body. How could ever show his face again to him?

Claude spent the afternoon sobbing into his pillow. His stomach began to growl and threatened to burrow a hole through itself a few hours in. He wanted food, but his hunger only led to more lethargy. He almost sat up eagerly when he heard his bedroom door open. Hilda! Hilda could bring him food, even if he’d have to put up with her pitiful nagging.

“Claude…”

To his horror, it was Lorenz’s voice. He shut his eyes and sank into his mattress. He heard the clatter of a tray against his nightstand. Lorenz had brought him food? The thought touched him briefly before making him feel worse.

“Claude….Claude…” Lorenz’s voice was so tender. _God_ , he wanted Lorenz to crawl into bed with him and murmur his name like that all night long. Claude forced down his blush.

He didn’t move, opting to feign sleep over an awkward conversation.

His heart only began to hammer harder in his throat when he felt Lorenz recline on the bed, reaching over and brushing back a lock of Claude’s hair. “Claude,” he whispered gently once more. He wanted to open his eyes, nuzzle his face into Lorenz’s hand, pretend for a second that they loved each other.

But he stayed still and reveled in the feeling of Lorenz’s tender fingers in his hair.

Lorenz sighed. “I’m sorry, Claude. You are…so precious to me. I never wished to hurt you, and I only wish I could return your affections.” In his pause, Claude could feel tears stinging at his eyes and he burrowed deeper into his pillow.

“But I love Dorothea. I love her. I love her with all my heart.” He thought he heard the faintest tremor in Lorenz’s voice. “So I can’t love you. I’m sorry. Would you forgive me?”

Claude wanted to burst into tears right then, but bit his tongue.

He could no longer feign sleep. He stirred under his blanket, faking a rousing consciousness and then blinked in surprise at the sight of Lorenz.

“You’re awake,” Lorenz said snobbishly, all tenderness vanished. “I heard you haven’t eaten anything since last night.”

Claude smiled and yawned. His heart lightened from the easy conversation. “I’m barely up and you’re already scolding me for something? Don’t you have a wife to bother?” He pushed himself up to sitting, back still pressed comfortably against his pillows.

“Hmph,” was all Lorenz had to say to that. “My wife isn’t currently a complete mess, unlike a certain someone.”

“Mmm,” Claude whined and sank into his sheets. “I’m sick and this is how you treat me?”

“Sick? That’s not what Hilda told me.”

“What?” Claude pouted. “Did she tell you I was _agonizing_ over you and that’s why I haven’t eaten? Come on, Lorenz. I can handle rejection.”

“I’m worried that you can’t, actually.”

He was right about that, but Claude wasn’t going to admit it. “You brought me food,” he said, changing the subject.

Lorenz knitted his brows together pitifully and gave him a knowing look. Thankfully, he decided to spare Claude some mercy and didn’t say anything. “Yes. I did.”

Claude smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

Lorenz lifted the tray off the nightstand and into his lap. On it sat a plate of chick peas, mutton and flatbread, along with a glass of water and a glass of buttermilk.

“Hey, this is my favorite,” Claude said, sitting up excitedly. “How’d you know?”

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “We only spent all our school days together, Claude.”

Their school days. Huh. Claude would call it a more innocent time, but frankly, he and Lorenz hardly got along back then. Even when their initial friction had settled, they’d always kept each other on their toes, in a mutually respectful sort of challenge. Nonetheless, Claude would rather be here, with a Lorenz that was willing to show a softer side, than the Lorenz before the war.

Claude ripped the flatbread and scooped up the chick peas—or rather, he tried to. His hand was shaking so horribly from the lack of breakfast or lunch or sensible thought that he could barely keep his arm steady.

“Here,” Lorenz finally said, giving Claude a pitiful glance. He must have looked pathetic, unable to feed himself. He wanted to protest. He could manage if Lorenz just left him alone! But Lorenz had already pried the piece of bread from Claude’s fingers before ordering Claude, “Open.”

Claude did as he was told, jarring his mouth open like a toddler being fed. Lorenz pressed his fingers into Claude’s mouth. If Lorenz noticed that Claude’s tongue had accidentally brushed against his finger, nothing on his face showed it.

Claude chewed and swallowed. “I’m surprised at how skilled you are at handling flatbread,” he quipped to hide the embarrassment on his face. “Most people from Fodlan struggle to eat with their hands.”

“I would consider myself a poor friend if I hadn’t learned to eat with my hands in your company.”

Lorenz fed Claude the rest of his (incredibly late) lunch with diligence and patience Claude would have never assumed himself worthy of receiving. He said as much and Lorenz scoffed at him.

“Do not make this a habit, Claude.” But of course. No amount of Lorenz’s gentleness could ever be left without a proper nagging. “I expect you to come to dinner tonight. And be well enough to feed yourself.”

His heartbreak had been so obvious to Lorenz that Claude had forgotten he was pretending to be sick. By the time he remembered, Lorenz had already left the room. Feigning a cough would have been much too late.

Hilda was quite sure Claude had started writing poetry about his feelings, which was a bad sign.

She’d walked in on him splayed across the floor, hand on his forehead, miserably bleating out what Hilda assumed to be an Almyran love song. There’d been very few instances where she’d seen him in this state, but usually his stages of love-related grief went like this:

First, he’d cry. That was usually enough for him to get over the matter, and the vast majority of heartbreak ended with this stage.

If that wasn’t enough, he’d start sulking. This usually lasted for a few days and was accompanied by declarations that he was going to die alone. Claude would usually apologize sheepishly to Hilda about it afterward.

Laying on the floor singing was something she’d only seen once before. But what worried her the most wasn’t the stage itself, but that she was quite sure he was about to enter new, uncharted, heartbreak-related territory, and she had no idea where it led. (Worst case scenario was that he’d _write_ love poetry, which horrified her.)

“We have an emergency!”

Hilda barged through Dorothea’s bedroom door. Under normal circumstances, she’d be afraid of walking in on her with a woman, but Hilda knew she was with Lorenz and they _definitely_ weren’t having sex.

Luckily, Dorothea wasn’t with Lorenz, which meant Hilda could discard all the pathetic excuses she’d made up to get rid of him. She sat on a carpeted floor with Petra, the two of them doing each other’s nails.

“Ooh, that’s a nice color.” Hilda mentally slapped herself. “No wait, I need to talk to you, Dorothea.”

“If it’s about Claude and Lorenz, Petra already knows everything.” Dorothea’s hand was tucked under her chin while she observed Petra’s expert strokes over her fingernails. Her voice was flat. She seemed hardly concerned about the men’s drama.

“Claude won’t leave his room,” Hilda explained, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I’ve never seen him this bad. We need to do something.”

“I don’t get it,” Petra said, shaking her head. “They’re both in love but they won’t say anything?”

“It’s mostly Lorenz’s fault,” Hilda replied.

“Right, right,” Dorothea said. “Blame _my_ bestie and not yours.”

“Well, it _is_! Claude would be ready to proclaim his love tomorrow if Lorenz would just admit it to himself already.”

“These things take time, darling, trust me. I’ve seen it go south before when you try to push it. Lorenz would only drive deeper into his forced heterosexuality if I accused him of being in love with Claude.”

“Ugh, but it’s _so_ obvious. Everyone in Fodlan knows they’re secretly in love with each other!”

“Men are stupid,” Dorothea concluded.

Hilda huffed. “Isn’t there _anything_ we can do to make Lorenz figure it out faster?”

“We can commission nude paintings of Claude and hang them around the estate.”

“I would like that very much,” Petra chimed in, grinning mischievously.

“Petra!” Dorothea chided, smacking her arm.

“What? I think it’s a good idea.”

“Do you think we could set them up on a date?” Hilda asked, ignoring Petra. “We should do a double date! You and me, Dorothea. And then we ditch them and they’re forced to talk it out.”

“Or we could just do this,” Dorothea said, standing abruptly. Petra had just finished with coloring her pinkie and the paint hadn’t had time to dry, but she rushed to the door, jarred it open with her unpainted hand, and Hilda and Petra, ever-curious but silent, followed her.

Dorothea strutted with purpose, like she was about to start a fight with someone. Hilda dearly hoped that wasn’t the case, but when Dorothea stopped at Claude’s door, she suspected that was _exactly_ what Dorothea was about to do.

Claude’s pathetic singing had only gotten more unbearable in the few hours Hilda had left him.

“ _Waye dil-am_ ,” he cried into his hand.

“Claude, get up,” Dorothea commanded, prodding his side with her toe. “Get up.” When he didn’t, she exclaimed more forcefully, “Claude von Riegan, I ruined one of my nails to get here. Get up!”

Claude sobbed.

“Claude? All right. Petra, pin him down.”

Claude’s sobs hushed immediately. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Petra looked delighted to follow that order. Hilda didn’t think Claude could overpower Petra anyway, but given his post-heartbreak status, he was entirely at her mercy.

“No…” Claude begged. “No! No! Stop! What are you doing?” Petra straddled him, grabbing and pinning his wrists to the tile when he tried to break free. “Help!”

“Hilda,” Dorothea ordered. “Roll his pant legs up.”

Some type of realization dawned on Claude’s face. Hilda knew he’d grown up with elder sisters, so she could only imagine what type of torment was currently flashing through his mind.

“N-no!” She’d never heard what pure terror sounded like until now. “No! Help!” Claude squealed.

“Claude, if you don’t shut up and get over yourself, I’m going to wax all the hair off your legs, so help me Goddess.”

A leg wax as punishment was apparently not a novel concept to him, because he didn’t express any surprise or newfound horror at Dorothea’s words. He just squirmed under Petra’s grasp and cried out, “No! Please! I’ll stop! Dorothea, please!”

Only when his sobs hushed to sniffs did she reply, “No more singing?”

Claude nodded.

“No more sulking?”

Claude nodded.

“No more mooning about how Lorenz doesn’t love you and how you’ll die alone?”

Claude whimpered a little but nodded.

“Fine. Petra, you can get off him.”

“But I don’t want to,” Petra said happily, bouncing up and down.

“Petra!”

“Okay, fine, I’m getting up.”

Claude whined as Petra clambered off him.

Dorothea and Petra had had their fill of tormenting him. Now, it was Hilda’s turn. She dragged a dazed and tear-faced Claude up by the arm, like a baby after a tantrum.

“Up you get, sweetheart,” she encouraged. At least now, Claude was more malleable, more liable to her suggestion, unlike fifteen minutes prior when he’d sag stiff on the ground at any of her attempts to lead him to the nearest basin and throw water on his face.

Which was what she was going to do now.


	2. In Which Drama is Prolonged

A few weeks passed and having tea with Lorenz every week became easier and easier.

They’d settled on a regular schedule after the initial insanity surrounding the wedding. Lorenz had suggested it, wanting to check in on Claude every so often, and in the end, it was nice to have some companionship to look forward to at the end of every week.

Claude’s heart began to ache less as the days passed. He still loved Lorenz. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really get over him. But as the days wore by, it became easier to watch him hold hands with Dorothea. He’d never seen them exchange any sort of affection beyond that, to his relief. Something like that might shatter his heart to pieces again.

“What books have you been reading lately?” In his grief, Claude had remained unusually silent. Lorenz tended to direct their conversations. Books were a good topic to stick to since Claude had endless piles of them strewn about his room, and thus, endless answers to the question.

Claude folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Well, now that Fodlan’s history has been revealed to me, I’ve gone back to reading Almyran history. Did you know the Alliance was once a part of Almyra a thousand years ago?”

“Well, it would certainly explain why we share one of the same languages,” Lorenz responded easily. “And it would explain why so many of our dishes overlap.”

“A thousand years ago,” Claude exclaimed in fascination. “And yet we still remain entwined somehow. Isn’t that amazing?” He watched Lorenz grin widely and said, “What?”

Lorenz shook his head, still grinning. “Nothing.” But he only blushed and grinned harder under Claude’s scrutiny.

“What?” Claude repeated, leaning in with a teasing grin of his own.

“Nothing! Fine!” he finally groaned when Claude wouldn’t let up. “It’s just…your eyes light up whenever you talk about history. It’s…charming.”

Charming? Claude’s mind whirred. Was it a compliment? A tease? Internally, he shook himself. He was still examining all of Lorenz’s words for a sign that he had a chance, and he needed to let go.

Perhaps God was enacting some kind of mercy then, or reminding him of his position, but just as the thoughts in his mind threatened to spin out of control, Dorothea entered the lawn.

Lorenz saw Claude’s staring and swiveled around in his chair. “Ah, Dorothea,” he greeted. She met him at the table and let him take her hand and kiss the back of it. Such a tender gesture. Claude wanted to vomit.

“What is it, my love?” Dorothea’s eyes flickered to Claude’s jealous gaze. He realized and lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

“Actually, I wanted to speak to Claude. If you don’t mind.”

Claude’s head shot up in surprise. Lorenz mumbled an “of course” before offering his seat to Dorothea.

“I shall see you next week, Claude.”

“Sure.”

Meeting Dorothea’s gaze proved harder than Claude expected. He hadn’t spoken to her beyond her threatened assault on his leg hairs, but he surmised Lorenz must have confided some of their drama to her, if she hadn’t picked up all of it on her own.

Which Claude wouldn’t put past her. Dorothea’s sense for gossip rivaled Claude’s own.

“Claude,” she said, very gently. He appreciated that. If Lorenz hadn’t picked him, at least he had good taste. “How are you holding up?” She folded her hands over the table, leaning comfortably forward.

Claude inhaled deeply and sighed. There was no point in lying to a woman like her. “Well enough.”

She stretched her hand out and gave his forearm a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, Lorenz never stops talking about you.”

“Eighty percent complaints, I’m sure,” Claude said with a short laugh.

Dorothea giggled. “So I would have thought, but he’s been endearingly positive towards you. And frankly, all he does is worry about you. If I weren’t married to him, I would have sworn he were _your_ wife, nagging and fussing all the time.”

Claude didn’t know what to make of those comments, honestly. So he ignored them. “How have you two been?” His feelings were a knife he planned to drive deeper into his chest. Hilda always made fun of him for picking at his wounds, but it was the quickest way to numb himself to the pain. Even if he’d mostly recovered from his self-pity.

“All right,” Dorothea replied curtly. She paused in thought, as if their relationship required some sort of deep reflection and then finally hummed in place of an answer.

“Does your relationship require so much thought on your part?” Claude teased.

“So nosy!” Dorothea faked an offended hand on her chest and giggled. “If you want to know so much about our relationship, maybe you should just join us in bed. Though,” she went on, ignoring Claude’s stricken blush. “You wouldn’t see much.”

Dorothea excused herself quickly after, leaving Claude alone with the thought. Wouldn’t see much? What did that mean?

He’d been so addled by Dorothea’s interruption he’d neglected his tea. It had gone cold. He swished the cup around in his hand, as if that would warm it in lieu of a stove and took a sip to see if it was still salvageable. It wasn’t. Claude licked at the bitter cold taste on his lips and scrunched his face up.

Watching Claude and Lorenz interact was almost like having a front row seat to the most frustrating opera in the world. With a long plot that dragged on well beyond its allotted time, characters so abysmally stupid, anyone with half a brain would have the urge to jump on stage and shake the players. It was one long, awful comedy.

And Dorothea was witness to it all.

The only comfort was the massive amounts of ice cream she was allowed to steal from the Gloucester estate’s kitchens. She dug her spoon in and ate. And ate. And considered driving that very spoon into Claude and Lorenz’s throats.

“Hey, Dorothea.” Hilda sported her own glass of ice cream and sat across from her in the dining hall. It was nearly empty this late in the afternoon. “How’s it going?” _It_ in clear reference to Dorothea’s ministrations towards getting Lorenz to realize his affections.

“Awful,” Dorothea grouched. “I give up.”

“Oh, come on! The Dorothea I know isn’t so quick to give up.”

“Well, the stupidity of gay men has finally bested me,” she snipped. “Any bright ideas on your end?”

“At this point, all we can do is shove them into a closet and hope they have sex.”

“What, are we raising cattle now?”

“They shove cattle into closets to have sex?”

“No—huh. Never mind.” Dorothea’s leg bounced in irritation. “If I have to go any longer without Leonie—”

“Please—” Hilda promptly pulled the spoon from her mouth to interrupt. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

“Easy for you to say!” Dorothea snapped. “When you and Marianne have none of this drama to deal with.”

“And that’s why we don’t get involved, honey.”

“So you’re saying you would have just left Lorenz to flounder in his heterosexual lie by himself?”

Hilda thought. “No. But I wouldn’t have gone the lengths to marry him for it.”

Dorothea found herself angry over another thought. “And you! You said Claude was ready to proclaim his love for Lorenz! Well, I hit him over the head with obvious signs Lorenz is really in love with him and not me and they went completely beyond him!”

“Well, _duh._ He’s confused. Lorenz keeps insisting he loves only you and he’s been rejected before. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up and he doesn’t want to make assumptions again. And stop doing that!” she added, smacking her spoon down. “You’re making it worse for him!”

“Ugh.” Dorothea returned to tucking her chin in her head and pouting. “Fine.”

This really was getting out of hand. Dorothea would have to think of something quick before Lorenz ended up like that poor repressed gentleman from her past.

Lorenz rushed out of the meeting room and shut the door behind him.

_Now when do you two plan on having children?_

A lump sat in Lorenz’s throat. His father’s insistence on children was just a way to unsettle him, but it had unsettled him nonetheless. The idea of having children with Dorothea terrified him for some reason. His whole life, he’d expected to have children, _wanted_ children even. But now when the option had become a reality, his gut twisted in knots at the idea.

He sighed wistfully over the balcony railing. Nature, lately, had been his mental retreat over the last few weeks. He remembered once how Claude had talked about meditation and the beauty of nature, and then his mind began wandering towards Claude again. Claude…if he had children with Claude, he wouldn’t have minded at all…

“Hey,” Claude said.

Lorenz nearly jumped. “Ah,” he said, covering up his fright. “Claude. How are you, my friend?”

“Great, actually.” Back to his usual laidback attitude. He was at ease around Lorenz, no longer uptight or frantic or tearful. It was a welcome reprieve from the anxieties in Lorenz’s heart. Claude always seemed to settle him down.

“I can see that.” Lorenz nodded. “You’re doing much better.”

“Yeah,” Claude replied nonchalantly. “I guess I’m over you.”

A weight dropped in Lorenz’s chest. This was good. This was good! So why did he feel like doubling over the side of the balcony and emptying his lunch into the gardens below?

“I’m happy for you.” It could not have come out more strained. It could not have been more obvious his real feelings were to the contrary. And Claude wasn’t a fool. Why did he smile and accept such a clear lie, then?

“Really?”

“Of course. To have you pining for me when I’m so obviously unattainable. I would not wish you such torment. You are a dear friend of mine, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Aww, I knew you liked me.”

Lorenz smiled at the tease. He had missed it, missed all of him, really. Regardless of what had transpired between them, at least he knew he’d always have Claude at his side, loyal and true.

Lorenz leaned his elbows against the railing and let himself revel in the sweet, cool evening breeze. Claude huddled close to him, unmindful of the contact between them and hummed in agreement.

“It’s hard to believe there was a war going on hardly a year ago when you look out there, isn’t it?” Claude’s voice was contemplative. His eyes held Lorenz’s, and before Lorenz knew it, his body was moving of its own accord, leaning in for a kiss. His lips brushed Claude’s, blood pounding with anxiety in his ears, until Claude suddenly pulled back, flustering.

“Hey, hey!” Lorenz was pulled out of his daydream.

“Oh, Goddess,” Lorenz cried, shifting his weight off the railing and stepping back. “I’m so sorry! Goddess, Claude, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. We were talking about feelings and I must have moved without thinking. I’m the one who should apologize.” His eyes dimmed and Lorenz felt nauseous again. “I guess I’m not over you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I…” What could he say? That _he_ was the one who initiated, that _he_ loved Claude? His heart ballooned in his chest at the thought that Claude still loved him, but he knew Claude had only said that to alleviate Lorenz’s own guilt.

“Hey,” Claude soothed. “It’s okay.” He moved to leave, but before doing so, turned to Lorenz. “Tea tomorrow afternoon, right?”

Lorenz smiled at that. “Yes. Of course.”

The name Master Tactician hadn’t been bestowed upon Claude for nothing.

Sure, he was attracted to men. And to some, this may have signaled his hopelessness on picking up obvious cues that a man was secretly in love with him. But Claude had grown up in Almyra where his sexuality was frankly normal—celebrated even—and such assumptions just weren’t so for him.

At first he’d been reluctant to admit it himself. Lorenz had denied him. That should have been enough for him to accept his rejection. Lorenz’s awkward behavior, Dorothea’s smart remarks, Hilda’s shorter than usual patience when it came to his rejection had all flown over his head because he didn’t want to make assumptions again.

But the kiss. That was too much.

Claude hadn’t moved in for it. He’d accepted Lorenz wasn’t his. He would have never—automatic or otherwise—made any attempts at a kiss for a man whose relationship he respected. It was Lorenz who’d moved in for the kiss.

And he could put two and two together.

So when Dorothea arrived at his bedroom door, desperate to reveal Lorenz’s true feelings to him, Claude wasn’t surprised at all.

“Claude,” Dorothea said, unusually civil. “I need to speak to you.”

“Is Lorenz in love with me?” Claude blurted out.

Dorothea’s concerned face melted into relief. “Oh,” she said. “Well.” She paused. “That was easy.” She swiveled on her heels and started for the door. “Great conversation we’ve had.”

“Wait.” Claude’s hand slapped over her wrist. Dorothea glared at the offending limb, like she might cut it off through sheer force of will. Admonished, Claude let go.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Dorothea sighed and crossed her arms, suddenly interested in staring at the floor. She was uncomfortable, which was strange for Claude to witness given that he’d never been one of her extremely distasteful suitors.

“This is…” she finally started, her voice strained. “Complicated.”

“I can do complicated.” Claude gestured to the pair of armchairs in his room. “Sit.”

Arms still crossed, Dorothea sat hesitantly in her seat, as if it might shock or burn her if she got too comfortable.

She took a deep breath. “Don’t freak out.”

Claude snorted. “I’m done with that. Especially knowing that you’d probably rip my eyebrows out or something if I did.”

“Glad to see we’re on the same page.” Claude gave her the pause to speak. “You’re right,” she finally said. “Lorenz is in love with you. From what I understand.”

“From what you understand?”

“I don’t think Lorenz knows what he is.” Her arms un-crossed, and her shoulders relaxed. “I mean _I_ certainly don’t like men. Lorenz obviously doesn’t know this. I’ve just been…suspicious for a while. I only married him because I didn’t want him admitting undying affection for a woman who’d _actually_ be heartbroken when he realized. I was just trying to protect him,” she added defensively.

“I’m not here to accuse you,” Claude said gently.

“Yes, well I know what it looks like,” Dorothea went on, and when he gave her a blank stare, she said, “Like I’m just after his money and status! But I swear I’m not.”

Claude inched closer, patting the back of her hand. “First of all,” he said. “I absolutely approve of gold digging.”

To Claude’s satisfaction, Dorothea’s nervous face melted into a snort and a sweet laugh. She wasn’t about to let him off so easy, however.

“Oh?” she asked. “Even if it’s from a man you love? You aren’t afraid I might hurt Lorenz by taking all his money?”

“Eh,” Claude replied casually. “Rich nobles usually deserve to be robbed from.”

Dorothea let out a noise of disbelief. “And what does that make you? Mister King of Almyra? You seem to be the richest noble of all.” She ran a finger through his hair, surveying his looks as if a middle aged woman on the hunt for a new son-in-law. “On second thought, I should have married you instead.” Claude blushed and shooed her hand away.

He ignored that last comment. “Not quite. Sure, I don’t go hungry at night, and I live in a nice palace but all any extra money goes to the expenses of the poor. We don’t believe in luxuriant spending, especially not with the history my grandfather had.”

“Your grandfather?”

He couldn’t help but indulge her questions. He’d been aching to tell someone all about his family in Almyra for so long. “He was a drunk, overspent and was all around irresponsible. My father, on the other hand, cultivated a different viewpoint in me.”

“Hmm, interesting. And what’s the second thing you were going to say?”

“Second, I believe you. You’re a smart woman, Dorothea. And we both know how Lorenz is.”

“Yes, we do.” This time, Claude joined her when she laughed.

“So what’s your plan?” Dorothea asked. “Because I’ve run out of ideas.”

Claude thought for a moment. “You’re failing because Lorenz doesn’t usually listen to anyone but himself. He needs to realize what’s going on from his own digging. No matter what _we_ say, he won’t listen. I have an idea.”

And he jumped off the armchair and dove into the pile of books on his desk. He couldn’t ever travel anywhere without a good set of reading material, so he always brought his favorites with him.

 _A History of Varied Sexualities in Almyra_. There. It was thin and plain, but in excellent condition, despite how many times Claude had dipped into it. He dug it out from under all the other, much heavier texts on his desk and returned to the armchair, presenting it to Dorothea.

“What’s this?” Dorothea flipped through the pages. “Is this gay erotic poetry?” she exclaimed, leaning back in shock. Claude laughed and snatched the book from her hands.

“Excuse me, it’s _tasteful_ gay erotic poetry, thank you very much,” he said defensively.

“Hmph. That’s what men always say when—are those two women?” Dorothea asked eagerly, snatching the book back. Claude glared at her. “Goddess, why is she shooting a dildo into her—”*

“It’s metaphorical!”

“Metaphorical?” Dorothea echoed in disbelief.

“Look, do you want my plan or not?”

Dorothea raised an eyebrow. “If you expect Lorenz to willingly read that—”

“Oh, but I do.” Claude grinned confidently. “Just you watch.”

He just wanted to get this over with.

Normally, Lorenz looked forward to his tea dates with Claude, but ever since that—ever since that…. _action_ that Lorenz wouldn’t speak about, he’d started to have uncomfortably vivid fantasies. He kept remembering the curve of his lips, pliant and soft and— _Goddess! Just stop!_ He just wanted to see him today, pretend everything was normal, and then lock himself back up in his room and ride this storm—whatever these unwanted thoughts were—and forget it all happened.

Lorenz wasn’t sure if he was relieved when he saw Claude, book in hand, as he pulled the lawn chair back and took a seat across from him.

“How are you doing?” Claude asked, setting the book on the table, face-down. It wasn’t as embellished or thick as what Lorenz was used to seeing him read, which naturally piqued his curiosity.

“Good,” Lorenz replied curtly. He watched as Claude’s hand wrapped around the handle of his teacup, the way those veins snaked and those tendons flexed in the morning light. Lorenz swallowed.

It was becoming undeniable how much he wanted those hands—under his shirt, in his hair, between his thighs. Lorenz shivered at the thought and tried to keep his tea steady. The thought was so innocuous, but it was maddening. All at once, he felt the urge to shove himself across the table and kiss Claude furiously, demand his love and attention, murmur his name against his lips and declare his loyalty into his ear. He bit back the urge, feeling embarrassed and guilty for his thoughts.

This was torture.

“Anything interesting you’ve been reading lately?” Lorenz closed his eyes, folded his legs over one another, taking a sip of his tea to try and calm himself. Yes, he was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester and he was married to Dorothea Arnault and he loved her and only her and no one else and he…

He opened his eyes and stared at Claude—the trim of his beard and the way his eyelashes fluttered under the sunlight—and his heart stopped at once. His tea threatened to splash and stain the table again, and he had to breathe deep to settle the bubble of feelings in his chest.

“Would I read anything if I didn’t find it interesting?” Claude quipped. Lorenz barely registered the words, his mind suddenly enamored by the fullness of Claude’s lips. They were so lush, protruding just so; he wondered how those lips would feel on his neck.

Lorenz cleared his throat, chiding him to cover up his embarrassing thoughts. “Of course not, but it was my polite way of opening up a discussion with you. Really, Claude, all these years and you still can’t be pressed to behave like the royalty you are.”

“It’s not like my nature disqualifies me of my royalty, so I don’t see why I should change.” Claude winked. “Plus, I know you like it.”

Lorenz raised his eyebrows. “Oh, do I now?”

“Of course you do. Or you wouldn’t love me so much.”

Lorenz knew he meant platonically, but the word “love” had him holding his breath.

If Claude noticed his inhibitions, he said nothing of it. “It’s a history book on Almyra.”

“So short?”

Was that a coquettish glance in his direction? No. Lorenz must have been imagining it. “It’s specifically about the culture surrounding love and courting in Almyra.”

Lorenz wanted to die. A few peaceful weeks of their relationship mending through strained tea times and respectful distance and he was about to ruin it all with the incessant drumming in his chest.

“Interesting,” was all he could manage to say, burying his blush into a sip of his tea. The second of pause was enough for him to regain his composure. “It still doesn’t explain its brevity. I thought love was highly valued in Almyra.”

“It’s…” Claude hesitated. “About a specific population. People like me.”

“Ah.” People like him. What a polite way of putting it to Lorenz. So unlike Claude. It was a testament to how much he valued their friendship, if he were willing to censor himself for Lorenz’s sensibilities.

 _People like him_ , Lorenz thought again, like a mantra. _Not people like me._

_Not people like me._

“May I read it?” His own question shocked Lorenz, like someone else had spoken for him.

Claude looked equally surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Lorenz replied easily. Almost haughtily. An old habit. One he retreated to when he didn’t know where else to go. “We are friends, aren’t we? I wish to learn about your culture. I wish to learn about you. Besides, the topic sounds interesting regardless. I’d love to read it when you’re done.”

Claude slid the book across the table. “Actually, I just finished.”

Despite his initiative, Lorenz eyed the book like it was the severed tentacle of some gruesome sea creature. He remembered Claude speaking of intuition in his faith, of how the body and the mind knew more than a single person’s experience. Right now, he could have sworn some old wisdom arose in him, warning him. If he took that book into his hands, it would mean a point of no return.

He swallowed the thought down and graciously accepted the book.

Lorenz’s interest in the book was purely clinical at first. He was curious. He wanted to know what about it appealed to Claude so much, and what the culture of love was in Almyra. Maybe it was his way of an apology. He should learn about Claude’s inclinations, if only to respect his traditions.

He brushed the embellishing on the cover. _A History of Varied Sexualities in Almyra_. The book was old, pages yellowed at its edges and the spine creased from numerous readings. He could only imagine a younger version of Claude, fascinated by the unknown, poring over the pages and taking in a completely different vision of himself. The thought made Lorenz smile.

It _was_ fascinating. Almyra hadn’t been like Fodlan at all in the sense of sexuality. What was practiced behind bedroom doors was entirely the business of whoever was involved. Marriage was still a priority for most people, but not expected of anyone who wasn’t heir to the throne. Even then, there were plenty of rulers who’d forgone marriage and adopted children into the line instead. In actuality, it was a smarter thing to do. Raise one child fit for rule instead of multiple children vying and manipulating for the seat, focusing on the assertion of power over the people’s needs.

When Lorenz reached the section on women and their relationships with other women, he initially intended to skip right past. Only he noticed notes scribbled along the margins: _Not very accurate_ and _Corny_ and a long list of instructions on how to please a woman. It was signed _Shahdokht_ _Jawaher_ —Claude’s sister! How embarrassing. Lorenz could only imagine what it was like reading sexual instructions from a sibling…

Some of the women had penises to his surprise, and some of the men vaginas. Poetry sung about women with beards and androgynous subjects. It seemed Almyra could care less how a person identified, as long as they ascribed to one gender or the other. In that sense, Almyra may not have been so progressive, but it still afforded a colorful spectrum of options.

Lorenz swallowed when he reached the section about men loving each other. The poetry, he wanted to note down for a purely aesthetic reason. But once he reached the images and descriptions, he had half a mind to snap the book shut. Curiosity led him on, and besides, this was the part that mattered. This was the part of Claude that…

He started to imagine it was Claude’s hands in some of these descriptions. He started to imagine those deep seats of emerald eyes as Claude’s. And once he started to imagine Claude in those positions and himself in place of faceless men—Goddess help him.

He could no longer deny it. His thoughts of Claude, his feelings. They were all real. They weren’t fanciful or whimsical or something he could ignore. He loved _Claude_. He loved men. He’d always and only ever loved men. Not only did he not love Dorothea, but he could never love Dorothea or any woman for that matter.

No matter how hard he tried. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t…

Lorenz slapped a hand over his mouth to hush his sob.

He had to keep quiet. Dorothea was in the room over, and if he so much as sniffed, she would hear him and come rushing over.

Every repressed feeling, every repressed memory came flooding into his mind like a surge. He remembered when he was eight, he’d stared at a handsome man—not with envy as he’d mistaken at the time—but in utter fascination and attraction. He remembered meeting another man just like him, pretty and prissy, and remembered wanting to be like him. And he remembered his father’s anger at things he didn’t understand as child: Lorenz’s propensity for tears, his love of feminine clothing and habits and his inclination towards girls as friends over the rough-housing boys. They were all things he’d later twisted to suit his noble obligations, but in actuality, they’d always meant something else.

“Oh, Goddess,” he sobbed, curling in on himself. The tears wouldn’t stop. But he needed to stay quiet. He needed to stay quiet or—

“Lorenz?”

He felt her kneel in front of him. Goddess help him…she would be so upset. He’d married her to protect her feelings not drive a knife deeper into her.

Dorothea slipped the book from Lorenz’s lap and set it aside. She would know from the cover, wouldn’t she? She would know, wouldn’t she? But she said nothing, pulling Lorenz in an embrace and holding him close.

She was so soft. Lorenz felt a familiar surge of love, the love he’d proposed to her with. In all his expectations of marriage, he’d lost that love, consumed with a storm of mixed feelings and inhibitions. But now he remembered it. Now that he knew what he was, he was free to love her the way he could. He loved her as his dear friend. He would protect her, he would kill for her, but it was not the sort of love found in romance.

“Dorothea,” he sniffed, pulling away. Lorenz held her and warmed at the sight of her face. She must have sensed it because she looked surprised. “I have to tell you something. And I…” Dorothea didn’t protest or interrupt to his relief.

Sweetly, Dorothea laid a hand on his arm. Her eyes were kind. “Lorenz…it’s okay. You can tell me whatever it is.”

Lorenz inhaled, gathering his thoughts. “Please just know that what I say is no reflection of your character or our relationship, and it is not any fault of yours. I just…As much as I care for you, Dorothea, I…I don’t love you. Not the way I’m supposed to.” He allowed for a pause, for her to process. To his relief, she did not seem offended.

“Not the way you’re supposed to?” she asked after a second.

“I mean I…I am incapable of loving a woman.” Lorenz swallowed a lump in his throat. It was so easy to deny his attraction to women, but to admit that he liked men? That, he struggled to say. “Only…only men.”

His voice broke then and he began to sob. He dropped his head, pulling Dorothea in close and pressing wet lashes into her shoulder. He was grateful, at least, that even if Dorothea hated him for this, she did not let him go.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Dorothea,” he wept. All the words hurried out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “I didn’t mean to do this to you, truly. I genuinely care for you, and I only want the best for you. I promise to still be your husband, to fulfill all your needs and desires. I’ll take care of you until my dying breath, but I wanted you to know the truth. I—” Dorothea’s finger was on his mouth before he could proclaim anything else.

“I knew all of that already, silly.”

“You—what?” Lorenz wept.

“I’ve known all along you like men. That’s why I married you. Because I like women.”

“Wait, but…” Lorenz sniffed, embarrassed by how much his voice currently sounded like a petulant child finished with their tantrum. “Why did you marry me then? Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Lorenz,” Dorothea said, annoyed now. “If I had told you, would you have believed me? You would have just exclaimed about your noble obligations or something. I knew then, I’d have to keep you safe.”

Lorenz laughed into a sob. “I’m a fool.”

“That you are, but you’re my sweet fool. Now we can divorce or stay married if you like. Though I certainly enjoy the benefits of House Gloucester. I suppose you’ll have to discuss that at length with Claude.”

“Wait, Claude? How did you—”

“Lorenz, the only time I’ve seen you with a hard-on was the night you saw Claude in a gorgeous suit, so yes, it was a little obvious.”

Lorenz blushed furiously. “Was it really so obvious?”

“Only the whole country knows you and Claude are an item, darling.”

Despite the ache in his eyes, Lorenz felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. Her pet names for him sounded sweet and tender to him again, instead of cutting deep into his guilt. Dorothea stood and pulled him up to standing with her.

“He knew!” Lorenz suddenly realized, laughing a little. “The night of our reception, he told me that Almyrans had marriages like this. And he…” Lorenz cleared his throat, grateful he was already flushed from crying because he might have blushed at the memory. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What!” Dorothea screeched, slapping Lorenz’s butt. For a worrying moment, Lorenz thought he’d finally breached some boundary between them and was prepared to apologize. “He tried to kiss you and _you didn’t kiss him back?_ ”

“Well—of course not,” Lorenz dithered. “How could I betray you—at least—”

“No!” Dorothea cut him off and started to shove him from behind, out the door. “Go kiss him now, you idiot!”

Lorenz hung by Claude’s bedroom door and tried not to feel like a complete idiot.

These last few weeks had been harrowing to say the least. Not unlike a sailor’s first venture out to sea, unsteady and rocky on a boat that swayed every moment with the waves and the wind. And Lorenz was so busy trying to find his balance that he’d morphed into some timid, confused version of himself—very unlike him, and very embarrassing. He felt almost ashamed of himself. Not fully ashamed of himself, because right now, he was just nervous about confessing to Claude.

He opened the door.

It should have been easy. They’d practically confessed to one another already. They’d known each other for so long, bickered and fought and pushed each other to the edge so many times, a love confession couldn’t have gone over worse than any of that. But still, Lorenz was afraid. Maybe because this time, because he knew what he stood to lose.

“Hi, Lorenz.” Claude sat in his armchair, a large, dry volume of history in his hands and smiled warmly at Lorenz. “Sit.”

The room was heated by the fireplace behind Claude. Spring meant Leicester had gotten warmer, but Claude had a tendency to feel cold, especially during the night. Lorenz didn’t usually mind it, but with sweat on his brow from anxiety, he would have preferred a cooler temperature.

Oh, Goddess dammit. It was probably better to just blurt it out.

“Claude, I—” Lorenz took a seat before letting out a stream of words. “I know.” He cleared his throat, ignoring the gleam in Claude’s eyes. “I know what I am. And I…” he sighed. “I just wanted you to know. Even though, you probably already do.”

Claude was still smiling, all his attention directed at Lorenz. His elbow was propped up, chin in hand, and as conniving as his posture and smile might have looked to anyone else, his eyes were all genuine kindness.

“I’m glad,” Claude said.

“I just hope you know,” Lorenz added with a bit more confidence. “I’m not an easy man to please and I expect to be courted with the amount of propriety befitting both our stations.”

With that, Claude burst into an amicable laugh.

“And who said I was interested in courting you?” he asked with a tilt of his head. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was over you.”

Lorenz sat back in his chair. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I know you. Better than you know yourself, if I’m being honest.”

“Rather presumptuous for someone who only figured out their sexuality a few hours ago,” Claude teased.

Lorenz sighed and rolled his eyes, in that way he did when he knew Claude had beaten him. Claude laughed and Lorenz relented with a smile.

“Well, then,” Lorenz said. “I suppose I’ll just have to seduce you.”

Claude leaned into his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you can?”

Lorenz slipped out of his chair, fluid as silk and dropped to his knees. He took Claude’s free hand in his and gently kissed the back of it. He could see Claude’s smile widen sheepishly behind his hand.

Lorenz knew how he was supposed to act with a woman, but with a man? Was it the same? Was he supposed to act a certain way? All the images and verses from earlier flashed through his mind, swirling together in a confused haze. Those book pages certainly hadn’t helped.

“I thought,” came Claude’s voice. “You expected to court with propriety.”

“Well, knowing you, my attempts at seduction will only work if I choose to do something scandalous.”

“Kissing my hand is scandalous?”

“Without any prior engagement, yes.”

Claude gave Lorenz a thoughtful look. “I’d say we’ve had enough engagements. All those lunches in Garreg Mach’s dining hall weren’t enough?”

Lorenz scoffed. “Please! The mere suggestion that you would consider those lunches as romantic engagements is insulting.”

But Claude had apparently thought of something entirely different. He pulled on Lorenz’s shirt sleeve, halting his kisses. “You want to do something scandalous?” He dragged him up and towards the bed. “Let’s have sex.”

“Excuse me?”

Before he could process the idea or voice any protest, Claude dragged him to the bed. He removed his coat down to the loose _kamiz_ he wore to bed and settled into the sheets. Claude did nothing to suggest that he wanted sex, however, which put Lorenz’s frayed nerves at ease. He must have been teasing.

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Do you…want to have sex?”

“Oh,” Claude replied, blushing bright red. Now it was clear to Lorenz he’d been teasing. “I mean, if you want.”

Lorenz felt his cheeks heat. This would have been amusing if it weren’t so embarrassing. They were both adult men, so why was the subject so difficult to breach? “I want to,” Lorenz admitted. “But I have no experience.”

“Nor do I,” Claude replied, disappointed at first. And then his face lit up with an idea. “Oh, I know!” He jumped off the bed without warning like a child who couldn’t sit still.

“Claude!” Lorenz chided, almost tumbling over from the force. Claude hurriedly apologized but was otherwise occupied with the scattering of books sitting on, around and under his desk. He reached for one and then returned to Lorenz’s side. He presented it to Lorenz.

“A sex manual,” Claude explained.

“Please, Claude I am already familiar with the intricacies of Almyra love and courting from the _other_ book I borrowed.”

“ _That_ is a book documenting the sexualities in Almyra. This is a sex manual. With instructions,” Claude added, as if Lorenz didn’t know what a sex manual was.

Lorenz leaned his head back and moaned. “If this is what the rest of my sex life is going to be like, I think I’d rather die a virgin.” He had half a mind to slip off the bed to conclude his dramatic proclamation, but was interrupted by a snort of laughter. Claude pulled Lorenz forward by the collar, still laughing, and Lorenz soon joined in. The room was filled with the echo of their laughter. They laughed until their sides hurt. They laughed until they could hardly sit up and had to lay down to contain themselves. They laughed until they cried and had to wipe away each other’s tears.

When they finally went quiet, they were laying side by side, foreheads touching.

Lorenz was still unsure if he was meant to do something, if there was some propriety involved that he was ignorant of. He’d spent his whole life following the rules when it came to romance, perfecting the art of courting into a neat little set of steps, but now he was with a man. He was hurtling into something he hardly understood, and despite all that…

Despite all that, he was quite happy.

Claude’s eyes were still closed when Lorenz opened his. He’d never really had the chance to appreciate Claude’s beauty in private. He’d spent so much time with him that he’d hardly registered Claude as anything but a familiar face. But now he could see him, smiling slightly, half-asleep. His eyelashes were long, his nose broad, his lips full. Lorenz wanted those lips desperately. He traced a finger over the curve of them, liking the way Claude smiled at the touch.

Lorenz spoke. “We haven’t kissed yet, have we?”

Claude’s eyes fluttered open. “As I recall, we’ve kissed twice, actually.”

Lorenz’s brow narrowed and he scoffed again. It was clear to him when Claude smiled wide that the man derived enjoyment from tormenting Lorenz. “That does not count.”

“Our lunches don’t count,” Claude mock wailed. “Our kisses don’t count. What must I do to make my love for you count, Lorenz Hellmann Gloucester?”

“They don’t count because the intent behind them—”

“The intent?” Claude echoed over Lorenz’s protests. “Must I announce my intent?” Suddenly, Claude raised his voice, as if addressing a crowd in his bedroom. “Sir Lorenz Hellmann Gloucester!” he shouted dramatically, raising his arm back and eliciting a stern glare from Lorenz. “Prithee, if you would be ever so kind as to bestow a kiss upon mine lips!”

Lorenz pulled his arm down to silence him. “I would be so kind, if you would refrain from announcing your intentions to all of Gloucester.”

Claude giggled. “Yay.”

Lorenz rolled his eyes. But he could not contain his excitement. He leaned forward and let Claude lead. It was regretful to admit, but Lorenz had no experience in kissing either. He’d been nervous at first, but the second Claude pressed his lips to Lorenz’s, he relaxed. Claude’s hand was in Lorenz’s hair, gentle, caressing, and Lorenz held Claude’s shoulders, tightly at first, until he melted into the kiss. That was the thing about Claude. He’d always had a soothing presence. Even in the tense preparation before battle, something about him willed those around him to relax.

“It won’t stop,” Lorenz breathed, once they pulled away from one another.

“What?” Claude whispered, a note of worry in his voice.

“The fluttering in my chest.” Lorenz blushed. “No matter how many times I think of you. Or kiss you. Or anything. It always makes me feel giddy.”

Claude giggled and kissed him again.

“Congratulations on not being a virgin,” Dorothea greeted that morning. She sat with her legs spread out slouched against the arm chair, filing her nails. She didn’t look up when she spoke.

“I’m still a virgin, actually,” Lorenz replied pointedly.

Dorothea’s head shot up. “What?” She stood up, dropping her nail file to the table with a _clack_. “Lorenz, is everything okay?” she asked, holding his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Lorenz laughed. “We just spent all night talking.”

Dorothea’s shoulders dropped and her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “Nerds.”

Aside from Dorothea’s attempts at bullying, Lorenz felt an unusual calm this morning. He felt as though he’d weathered a particularly brutal storm and could finally rest. The room he shared with Dorothea no longer felt like a torment.

“About us,” Lorenz began. He sighed. How to say this as succinctly as possible?

“Your father,” Dorothea interpreted, correctly. 

“It would reflect poorly on the two of us if we divorced so quickly after a wedding. My father might even suspect ulterior motives, especially on your part.”

“I thought about that,” came Claude’s voice from the doorway. He stood leaning against the threshold, chin sitting contemplatively in his hand, as if he’d been a part of this conversation the whole time. When he was met with an offended stare from Lorenz, he smiled. “What? It’s not like I’m interrupting you two or something.”

Dorothea giggled. Lorenz sighed and gestured towards one of the armchairs. “Fine. Sit.”

Claude took a seat and continued. “I was thinking I whisk you both away to Almyra for a while.”

“What?” Lorenz exclaimed while Dorothea went, “Oooh.”

Noticing their reactions weren’t the same, the two of them exchanged glances, and Lorenz asked, “What do you mean, ooh?”

“What do you mean, what?” Dorothea retorted. “I think it’s a grand idea.”

“I think it’s a terrible idea!”

“Why?” Claude interjected.

“What does it accomplish, except to stave off my father’s rage? And for how long? Do you want me to spend decades hiding away in Almyra while the Alliance falls apart?”

“That’s not what I was suggesting,” Claude replied calmly. “You and Dorothea return to Almyra with me under the guise of diplomacy. Divorcing after a year is less shameful than after a few months. And you can make it look like Dorothea couldn’t handle the politics surrounding married life with you.”

Lorenz scoffed. “And my father will only think lesser of Dorothea for it.”

Dorothea interrupted, “You know I don’t care what your father thinks of me, Lorenz.”

“But your reputation—”

“I don’t care about my reputation either. And no offense, Lorenz, but I’ve survived worse scandals.”

“I thought you wanted to marry a rich man.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “I already did. I’m taking some of your wealth with me, you know that right? Leonie and I are planning on opening a school for common children.”

“Leonie?” Lorenz repeated, asking the question in Claude’s curious eyes.

“We’re a thing,” she explained.

“Aw,” Claude said. “She can come, too. Well, Lorenz?”

Lorenz held his breath. Perhaps this sort of defiance was unusual, when, strategically and politically, it made more sense. But he’d just experienced the thrill of understanding himself. He didn’t want to go back into hiding so soon. He glanced between Dorothea and Claude.

“No,” he said. “And before you interrupt—” he added to Claude’s open mouth. “At least listen to me. You, of all people, taught me to stand up to my father. And I don’t want to give this up. I don’t want to hide. I’m telling my father what I want, and frankly, on the topic of diplomacy, nothing would be better for him if he could look past his bigotry. Marrying the king of Almyra as the next in line to head the Alliance would do wonders for both our countries. And if he has a problem with it, he has the entirety of Almyra and half the Alliance troops to contend with.”

Claude looked surprised but he also looked…proud. “Are you sure?” he asked, with that hint of excitement that overtook his voice when he wanted to run headlong into something that was a terrible idea.

“Yes,” Lorenz replied.

Claude walked beside Lorenz and wondered if his decision really was a surprise at all. Lorenz had always been forthcoming and honest. For him to openly announcement his sexuality and his intention of marrying Claude to his father would have come as no surprise had it been anyone else. But it was Lorenz’s _father_ , after all, and Claude knew a thing or two about not wanting to step on the toes of a respected authority figure.

Lorenz shoved the door to the meeting room open, revealing a seated circle of the various heads of the estate. Claude didn’t know any of them by name and only recognized one red-headed woman, Lysithea’s mother, Ophelia von Ordelia, who was attending for reasons unknown to him.

“Father, I’m gay.”

Claude pressed his lips together.

Okay. So they weren’t doing any buildup here.

Before Count Gloucester had a chance to react badly, another man reacted with an offended and high-pitched shout. He snapped his book to the table, pushed his chair back with a screech and walked out of the meeting hall, muttering profanities to himself. Claude wasn’t sure what that was all about, but Lorenz didn’t let him off easy.

“Good,” he snapped, as the man reached him. “Get out.”

Claude’s eyes widened, and he tried to hide his grin behind his hand.

Count Gloucester took a few menacing steps towards his son. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Lorenz replied without a hint of flinching. “That I like men. I don’t like women. Dorothea and I are divorcing, and Claude and I are getting married.”

Count Gloucester looked furious. Lady Ophelia looked exactly like how Claude felt—like she was trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“Are you listening to this?” Count Gloucester snapped, gesturing in particular to Lysithea’s mother.

Lady Ophelia pressed her lips together, hiding her smile and shrugged. “I always knew the boy was gay, Victor.”

“What?” Lorenz wailed. “Does _everyone_ know?”

Everyone at table nodded.

Whatever hilarity was derived from this situation, Count Gloucester reveled in none of it. He was still red in the face. If the rest of the council hadn’t seemed so lukewarm to the revelation, Claude might have currently feared for Lorenz’s safety.

“And how do you plan on approving this marriage?” Count Gloucester challenged. “You think that I or any of the other Alliance leaders won’t try to stop your efforts?”

“You may try,” Lorenz replied. “But I’m sure the other leaders and the citizenry will see it my way. There is no better diplomacy than for the heir to the Alliance to marry the king of Almyra.”

“And what about children, Lorenz? Or have you forgotten your duty to pass down your crest?”

“That isn’t a problem.” Lorenz glanced towards Claude for permission. They’d already discussed it last night, that Claude was quite comfortable with Count Gloucester knowing should the topic be pressed. But he asked, anyway to make sure. Claude nodded. “Claude and I are capable of having a child.”

At the very least, it got Count Gloucester to shut up.

“Well, then.” Lady Ophelia clapped her hands and stood from her seat. She moved to leave. “I think that settles it.”

Count Gloucester stuttered in anger before he could form a full sentence. “No, that does _not_ settle anything!”

Lady Ophelia clapped a hand on Count Gloucester’s shoulder. “Unless you’ve recently learned of a spell that changes a person to their core, I do think that settles it. Besides, I agree with Lorenz. I can see no reason you wouldn’t approve of this marriage, save one.”

Claude assumed she was referring to his bigotry.

“Also, it’s lunch time, so unless you’d like five very hungry and cranky councilmen and one woman to devour you, I think you’d better let the matter go for now.”

Lady Ophelia ushered him and the rest of the gentleman out of the room. Count Gloucester was swept up in their haste to leave, but deposited a threatening glare in Lorenz’s direction.

And then that was the end of that.

“Wow,” Claude concluded.

He expected _something_ from Lorenz. Crying from relief, a shiver, maybe a hug for comfort. But he didn’t expect a question. “How did your father take your revelation?”

“You mean telling him I was bisexual?” Claude asked, thrown off. Now that was a hilarious concept. People in Almyra couldn’t “come out” if it was so normal, it was hardly a revelation, even if more conservative groups disapproved. “When I told my father, he had an entire talk with me about how rewarding it is to take male lovers during the summer and female lovers during the winter.”

“What?” Lorenz asked. Claude laughed. His book hadn’t covered that fact.

“It’s a concept in Almyra. Not necessarily one anyone practices, but something or the other about how romantic and sexual pleasure is more satisfying for different groups during different seasons.”

“Well, that sounds absurd.”

Claude laughed.

“Though, I suppose we could always experiment.”

Claude raised his eyebrows and placed a hand on his chest. “Oh? Someone’s gotten bold quick.”

Lorenz smiled. “And why shouldn’t I be? We’re both adults.”

Lorenz took Claude’s hand then, lifting it up to his lips without breaking eye contact and kissed the back of it. Claude shivered involuntarily. He’d always played up his flirty nature, but it must have been obvious now how shy he truly was around Lorenz. Wordlessly, Claude curled his fingers around Lorenz’s and led him out into the gardens.

There were a number of things that bound the two of them. Their love of flowers, of perfume. Reading and pursuing knowledge. History, debate, discussion. The issue of justice. They both wanted a better world, one molded by love and acceptance. And it made their love poetic in that way. They were bound as much by friendship as they were by the world their union would create.

And they had so much to discuss. What it would mean, how it would work. Just the thought of pushing towards that goal had Claude’s head spinning.

But that would come later.

“Let’s sit here,” Lorenz suggested, leading him to a bench surrounded by rose bushes.

“Not going to scream to the entirety of the estate about how you’ll have sex with me tonight, are you?” Claude teased. To his delight, Lorenz blushed.

“Please!” was all he could manage over Claude’s giggles.

“I look forward to embarrassing you for the rest of my life.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Lorenz retorted, playing with Claude’s fingers in his hands. Though revenge looked like the last thing on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, there is really a historical painting of a lesbian shooting a bow and arrow with a dildo into another woman’s vagina. Apparently, it’s supposed to be “metaphorical”. I love us Muslims. [(link is to an article discussing medieval lesbian work, warning for nsfw images)](http://www.howtotalkaboutarthistory.com/reader-questions/lesbianism-sex-female-desire-art-history/)
> 
> Most of the stuff here has some historical precedent for gay love in Persia. The male lovers in summer and female in winter can be found here: [(link to Google Scholar, warning for some nsfw text)](https://books.google.com/books?id=qZfrAgAAQBAJ&pg=PT902&lpg=PT902&dq=persian+male+lovers+during+the+summer+and+women+during+the+winter&source=bl&ots=qsTJMZL9_6&sig=ACfU3U1pyw8A2dGKag1RD_2WgYPy2RvYYA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjxg-aptarqAhUBlawKHcTgB-0Q6AEwAHoECAcQAQ#v=onepage&q=persian%20male%20lovers%20during%20the%20summer%20and%20women%20during%20the%20winter&f=false)
> 
> [Here’s another article detailing the gender and sexual variance in Safavid Persia ](https://www.academia.edu/38236077/_Their_Beastly_Manner_Discourses_of_Non-Binary_Gender_and_Sexuality_in_Shiite_Safavid_Persia)
> 
> I would also like to emphasize that although some of these cases of “homosexuality” in Persian history were pedophilic and should be condemned, the term “young man” or “youth” doesn’t necessarily mean it was a child. Some of these objects of affection were young adult men. We don't condone pedophilia in any context here. Nya >:3

**Author's Note:**

> Waye dil-am means "woe to my heart" in Farsi.


End file.
